The Forgotten
by Sing-Sorrow
Summary: ((UNDER CONSTRUCTION)) Altair shares a fatherly moment with his youngest son Sef while Abbas watches, recalling feelings from their teenage years. (One hit/Songfic - Inspired by Green Day's 'The Forgotten')


UNDER CONSTRUCTION - INCOMPLETE

Title: "The Forgotten"  
Author: Sing_Sorrow / deeper-cut  
Pairings: Altair Ibn la Ahad + Abbas Sofian  
Characters: Altair Ibn la Ahad, Abbas Sofian, Sef Ibn la Ahad  
Ratings: T  
Warnings: None.  
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Romance, Songfic.

Summary: Altair shares a fatherly moment with his youngest son Sef while Abbas watches, recalling feelings from their teenage years. (One hit)

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story, living (or passed) human beings or fictional characters. These events never happened, according to history or as the original author intended them. This is a work of fiction and is not intended to offend. For entertainment purposes only. Thanks.

Author's Notes: This was an idea brought out of the song by the same title by Green Day that I had for a piece around 606 days ago, (December 24th, 2012), that's survived purge of my iPod and suddenly came screaming back to life for me one night after a nightmare when I couldn't go back to sleep. I must say, it has very much been this kind of summer – slow and reminiscing - and I'm very thankful for all my readers, so here's a shout-out for all of you that read and enjoy my work. Thank you so much! (^U^)

I find this pairing just too adorable. It's sad that they never stayed friends, Abbas was a really cool guy I suppose, (until he went all evil, *tear tear*). So yeah, just me adoring this pairing again. I wanted to put in some Malik (because he's awesome like that), but I didn't want to make this too too long. I had a limit, I needed to be asleep again by five am. XD So forgive me, more Malik to come I suppose. 3

Music and lyrics by Green Day. I own nothing. Just a piece not intended to offend. For entertainment purposes only. Thanks!~

And Sef is probably around 14/15.

As always, constructive criticism is more than welcome! Reviews are always appreciated and if you enjoyed it, feel free to drop me a comment! :) I don't bite. ;) Also, I don't write many different pairings all the time. If you have any suggestions/request, drop me a line for that too! :)

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"The Forgotten"

All was still on the mountain of Masyaf. The wind raised the red and white banners of the Syrian Assassins half-heartedly in its slow breeze. Many of the villagers were huddled inside the Assassins' fortress, most listening intently and keeping children quiet. Outside the fortress, the ringing of swords had died, leaving a silence more pronounced than the battle had been stretching out for them to agonize over. Who had won? How many had they lost?

One man was running down the hills, his hazel eyes wide with panic as he took in each and every face of the casualties. Many wore the emblem of his enemy, but the faces that stood out for him were those of his clan. They were his family. Though, in his middle age, there was only one face he was desperate to find; the face of Sef, his youngest son.

Altair was halfway down the main hill when a hand caught his attention. When his son had failed to report back to him when their invader's leader had turned and fled, panic that only a parent could consider began to well up in his heart. Now, he forced himself to hold back his scream of agony and move forward: if he was lucky enough, Sef could pull through however badly hurt he was.

He heaved a body off the arm, an enemy his son had ended no doubt, and continued in pushing the wooden wagon that had been flipped over off his flesh and blood. Under the wagon lay his son, with the same rich brown hair and smooth, tanned skin as his father. His eyes were closed, as if in sleep, but the blood on his forehead marred the image. Altair's keen eyes watched his chest rise and fall, his breathing was even but dragged out and collected, as if the effort was very taxing. He concluded he was probably suffering from some form of a blunt attack to the chest, most likely from the wagon, which upon further investigation seemed to have been pushed over the ledge from above. He began gently lifting his son's head into his lap; if the wagon had been pushed into his chest, he must've fallen off the cliff as well. Altair sighed heavily and began to check the back of Sef's head, but there was nothing but faint bruising. He lifted him carefully into his arms and got to his feet; it was harder to carry his children now that they were nearly grown men, but he wanted to get him to bed to rest. The attacks on Masyaf were only occurring at a more frequent pace, and as Master of the Assassins, he was bound to protect this city to his last breath. Standing alongside him every time was his eager sons and his brothers in arms.

When he came to the gate, the villagers all looked to him, as if to find some hint of how it turned out. He didn't want them to see the gore, there wasn't any need to frighten them with images of death, even if it was their enemies. He handed Sef to another assassin, his arms exhausted with effort of carrying uphill, and as a sign to all eyes watching that his youngest was still alive, just injured. He turned to find his defense commander and long time acquaintance, Abbas Sofian, strutting into the area. He had taken a horse and chased after their assailant, and had apparently been victorious in ending his life this time. He had brought back with him the man's sword, as was custom of the Assassins to leave the body of their victims in tacked and unarmed.

He came to stand by Altair, flashing him the sword that he kept at his side. They arranged to have several groups of uninjured soldiers sent out to clear the village. They themselves helped.

It was a long day, the surprise attack had been sighted arriving at the crack of dawn, and no one had rested since. It was late evening by the time all the villagers were allowed to go home, and later still when Altair had finally rid himself of his duties as a Master to take on the duties of being a father. He made his way to the room he had spent many years of his own childhood in, the room his late mentor had created for him as son of the master, and paused at the aged wooden door.

He hadn't been told a word of his son's condition since he left him, so he reminded himself that he hadn't detected anything fatal when he had found him. At most, his son would suffer a broken bone or two, but he had already lived through many of those, out of his reckless lifestyle.

He pushed open the door and entered the room, going to sit beside his son's curled up form. His head was wrapped in a thin, white cloth, but asides from that he seemed unharmed.

"Father?"

A smile crossed Altair's marred lips. He had hoped that Sef would've been sleeping.

"Yes, son?"

He reached out and patted Sef's hand, hoping that he would keep his eyes closed at the least.

Rebellious by nature, with his father's arrogance, Sef squinted to see his father, never satisfied until he saw proof that his father was there.

"I'm glad you're here, father." he whispered, his voice just a whisper. "I was having a terrible dream."

His throat sounded dry so Altair poured him some water to drink. He helped him as if he were a baby once more, supporting his head and wiping his chin. He knew the jokes the young assassins told of their Master's paternal side, but he didn't let it bother him; there was nothing more precious to him than his two sons.

"A bad dream? Perhaps we should put your blade by your bed again, hmm?"

Sef smiled and closed his eyes. "I'd like that."

The comfort of childhood items was something Altair always tried to give his sons. When his work brought him so close to danger, he thought it best for them to have a form of connection to him in a way that would give them peace, even if he were to pass away or never return.

He smoothed Sef's hair back and watched him rest. They were both silent, but Altair knew he wasn't sleeping just yet.

"Father?"

"Yes, Sef?"

UNDER CONSTRUCTION - (TBC)


End file.
